Thursday, December 30, 2010

HNT: Forty-three (Twenty-three Redux)

Desire. Passion. Lust.

The kind that dizzies your mind, ignites your flesh, that has you reaching out for his body in thought, in dreams, in waking, that seizes and bends and breaks time wide open, that has you longing to charge each endless moment with him, that has you yearning for the maddening lightness of his touch, his heady kiss so all-consuming, that leaves me aching, craving, needing after all these months for that one dark-eyed man.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players
and their favourite HNT of 2010…)

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

I Wake with You

I wake
With you
The warmth of your flesh
The flavour of your skin
Lingering still on these soft lips
Your heady musk
Your masculinity, your being
Overwhelming, engulfing my senses

I wake
With you
This supple body craving
Instinctively seeking, curving
Ever reaching
For your sleeping form
Your touch
Your kiss

I wake
With you
I wake
With you
I wake
Without you near

Thursday, December 23, 2010

HNT: Forty-two

With each new dawn
It is your name on my lips
It is your body on my mind
It is your passion coursing through my veins

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players
and their Christmas gifts and wishes…)

HNT: The Gift of Giving

Jas and JM

I realise this is something of a cheat since Jas and JM are talented individuals in their own right. But how could I possibly resist a joint affair for the sexiest Aussie couple du jour? I couldn’t.

When I began to consider the perfect gift for this pair, my mind wandered into the usual territory: sex. (Can you blame a girl after reading some of their delectable swinging tales?) What better gift than a playmate or two? Oh yes… The perfect Adam and Eve… Bodies, soft and sensual, tall and masculine. Minds, thirsty and playful and intensely engaging. Appetites, lustful and eager, adventurous and sensitive.

But then I stopped and considered these two, reflecting on the true love they have for one another, the kind of soul connection many of us continue to search for, the type of love that sees them through the often complex negotiations of extended and blended families and aching times and Christmases apart.

For these two wondrous and beautiful people, I give them the gift of travel, with yours truly as baby sitter. (It’s the least I can do, no?!) I give them the gift of Hong Kong as it is not only an easy eight-hour flight from home but also one of the most enchanting places on this fine planet. I give them the gift of a family getaway with plenty of alone time to reconnect (and weave into delicious blog posts), to shop (oh, the shopping…), to eat, to wander, to gaze at a skyline that leaves you marvelling at the harmony between lush, natural wonders and man-made feats of glass and steel.

Merry Christmas, Jas and JM.

Green Eyed Frenchy

For those of us lucky enough to be acquainted with this delectable French morsel will know Green Eyed Frenchy has been a little quiet on the HNT front of late having had (among other things) her camera stolen in a break-in.

The obvious gift would be a camera, but as I suspect she’s already shopping around for one which will allow us all to rejoice once more in the sumptuous photographs of her luscious form, I have been thinking along slightly bigger lines.

The past year has been a life altering one for Frenchy. She has been an example of style, of grace, of daring. In response to the way she embraces life, this is probably more wish than gift. For Frenchy, I want to give the gift of breathlessness. I wish for her a year of new experiences and adventures so good, so dizzying, so great, her breath will be taken clear away. In the best possible way, of course!

(If I was being more material, I’d be buying Frenchy a ticket to balmy Sydney to escape the snow and cold. Actually, that’s a very good thought. Now, where’s my piggy bank…)

May your Christmas be merry, Frenchy!

13 Messages

13 Messages is a man, a photographer, a blogger, I have admired for quite some time. I lurked in the shadows marvelling at his photographs and heartfelt words alike, often astonished at how instinctual, visceral and primal his imagery can be. In truth, his talent leaves me rather awestruck.

For 13 Messages, I also give the gift of a wish, that of a talent spotter: an individual who will be fortunate enough to stumble across the self-portraits that set the bar for us all, that school us in framing and mood, that teach us about dark and light and the shades of grey in between, that shows us the versatility of the wondrous masculine form, that demonstrate the (erotic) potential in everyday spaces.

As this is a talent that should be shared more broadly with the world, I call on the many to appreciate and marvel alongside the rest of us already in the know.

Merry Christmas, 13 Messages.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players and their Christmas gifts and wishes…)

Monday, December 20, 2010

Mirror, mirror

I found myself back there again.

I found myself taking in the image I long for you to see once more, taking in the detail of the white shirt chaotically tugged open, the lace of my demi cups darkened by the peaks scarcely hidden beneath, the black pencil skirt bunched around my waist, the pull of my suspender belt gently marking my yielding flesh, the midnight nylon sheen kissing the legs raised up stiletto high.

I found myself back there again, perched on the edge of the white expanse, spreading myself shamelessly in front of the glass, easing the damp, ebony silk away from my sex, teasing the softening folds, my nipples, my breasts, caressing the bright, plump lips, the abdomen lean and fair, cupping the mons so eager, my hips sensually grinding against the hand, my body, my cunt, silently demanding their much needed release.

And as I found myself there again, as I slid in two digits and crooked to find that sweet, little spot, as I fingered and fucked, as I circled and strummed the blushing nub, as I tightened and clamped and released my glistening lust, as I relished the wanton reflection of the woman pleasuring herself, moaning so loud the neighbours would most certainly hear, I wondered just how long you’d be able to resist me if you found me just this way.

Would you resist me? Would you resist?

Would you stand in the doorway relishing the sight, unbuttoning your shirt collar, discarding your tie, grabbing then rubbing your aroused flesh through the fabric, your raspy breath the only indicator of your voyeuristic presence?

Would you move over to me, stand before me, so close your scent overwhelms my senses, so close I can feel the heat blistering off your muscular body, so close my watering mouth can almost taste you, so close I can see the first perfect drop of precum nestling in your cockhead?

Would you extend your teasing torture, liberating your throbbing shaft, your fingers delicately drawing back the foreskin, your fist sliding back and forth, back and forth, your hips gliding along with it, back and forth, back and forth, positioning your body between my open thighs, back and forth, back and forth, your glans now intermittently brushing the tender skin of my breasts, back and forth, back and forth, your thumb smearing your shine along the curve of my neck replacing the fragrance of my favourite perfume?

Would you step closer still, winding your fingers through these tousled curls, your dark gaze locking on the deep blue of my eyes as you feed your thickness into my mouth, as your fingers join mine down below, as your digits transition from lace to nylon to skin hot and moist, as my tongue licks and laps, as my lips voraciously engulf, as I suck you like a woman starved and denied, as my mouth fucks your cock and your fingers fuck my cunt, our orgasms rushing headlong to meet us?

Would you torment me cruelly, deliciously with the meat most desired, running yourself along my cleft, coating your hardness in my flowing juices, circling my clitoris with your glans, your kiss finally finding mine, our lips sensually devouring through my whimpering pleas for your cock, through the ragged cries to “Fill me, fill my cunt, fill me, oh God, please, fill me, fill me, fuck me, fuck me”?

Or would you simply take what you want, what is rightfully yours, just as you did that night, wrenching open your zip, pushing me back on the bed, your suit jacket thrown off and onto the floor, my legs instinctively splaying themselves wide, your hand releasing the glans hard and eager, guiding then nudging momentarily at my need, before plunging, sinking into the depths of my velvet heat, your mouth, your kiss swallowing my mewl, your hands a vice on my hips, mine grasping for your shoulders, your back, your arse, the sound and smell of our lust overpowering the room as you fuck me with passionate abandon, as you relinquish that control, as you leave the imprint of your shaft on my most intimate flesh, as we come loud and hard, our urgent desire screaming over this skin, melting these bodies together, as I come loud and hard, my cunt milking you from within, as you come loud and hard, splashing your seed deep, deep inside me, as we come loud and hard with the reflection of our merged bodies beamed back at us in the low afternoon light?

I wondered. I wonder. Would you resist me as I sit at the mirror?

Thursday, December 16, 2010

HNT: Forty-one

Sultry Christmas night
Twinkling tree of lights
Wishing on a star brightly glowing
For peace and joy and lots of play
For red stocking filled with lingerie
For inspiration, guiding muses
For seductive passion, delicious teases

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players
and their Christmas themed delights…)

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Four Walls

These four walls behold
These four walls bare witness
Absorbing, greedily drinking
Our heat, our sweat, our libations
This abandon, this savagery
Our maddening sensual passion

Thursday, December 9, 2010

HNT: Forty


Let me lead you

Let me lead you

Let me lead you

Let me lead you
Take you
Make you

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Writing Desire

Words are not enough. My words are not enough. They pale in the face of yours, in the face of you. They are small, paltry, shamefully inadequate. My mind, it can not tame them, it can not craft them; it can no longer articulate the excess, the intensity, the passion that threatens to consume, to corrupt, to craze.

All that remains, all I have left is my body. This flesh, this blood, this bundle of nerves, this collection of freckles dotted along fair skin. This body. My body. The body that writes my desire. The body that longs to speak its own language, its truth, that aches to merge its nakedness with your own, that begs for your possessing touch, that calls for your seductive kiss, that screams for your sweet invasion, that seeks to know you, know of you, about you, as it has known and written of no other.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

HNT: Thirty-nine

All it takes is just one look
All it takes is just one touch
All it takes is just one taste
And she is his
And only his

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)